Duty and Devotion
by red wild sparkles
Summary: Cassandra Pentaghast. Cullen Rutherford. Meredith Stannard. Leliana. And DAII through Inquisition and Trespasser with a dose of nineteenth century romance novel. "No – she stretched out her hand with the full application of her will, knowing all the while that she did not believe what she was seeing." Cassandra/Cullen. Complete!
1. Chapter I: Midnight Encounter

**Chapter I: Midnight Encounter**

" _Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed_ _a little in love now and then."  
–_Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_

* * *

It was the year 9:36 Dragon. In Val Royeux, Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker and Right Hand of the Divine, bowed and entered Divine Justinia's private parlor. The older woman smiled to see her and gestured to an empty chair.

"Ah, Cassandra. What news from Kirkwall?"

Cassandra sat, but every fiber of her being still radiated tension, from the stiff line of her back to the tightness in her jaw. Even so, her slim, stately figure showed to good advantage. "Hawke successfully removed the Arishok. She has been crowned Champion of Kirkwall. But the tension between the mages and the Templars grows only worse by the hour. I fear we are not far from a crisis, if not a catastrophe."

Justinia sighed. "Indeed. I have felt that way for quite some time, as much as I hope still to be proved wrong. Tell me, of the players you mentioned, who gives you greatest cause for concern?"

"The Templars, certainly."

"Your reasoning?"

"Knight-Commander Meredith has been tightening her grip on the entire city, but she squeezes the Templars most of all. She has begun to alienat even some of her staunchest followers within the Order. And she clashes with Hawke, whom many of them support." Cassandra shifted in her seat. "Leliana agrees with me. She has sent for more information on the Knight-Commander from her agents. She told me to let you know that her report would be ready within the hour."

"Very well." Justinia tilted her head. "You'll keep an old woman company while she waits for her report on the impending collapse of one of the great civilizations of Thedas?"

Cassandra laughed. "Of course, Most Holy."

The two women spread their papers across the table and attended to their work. Justinia composed a sermon, while Cassandra sorted through various documents, deep in thought. It was a long time before Justinia abruptly broke the silence.

"Who do you admire, Cassandra?"

Cassandra looked up from her reading. "Most Holy?"

Straight into the grip of Justinia's eyes, as palpable as hands on her temples. Cassandra had served the Divine for five years, and found her only more perceptive with the passage of time. "Who do you admire?" Justinia repeated, holding her gaze.

"The Hero of Ferelden," Cassandra said after a beat. "She gave her life to end the Blight, a fate so many others would have approached with dread. Yet in her writings, she counted it a joy to embrace what she saw as her duty."

"And?"

For a long time, Cassandra had believed that the Divine conducted these dialogues for her spiritual development. It still amazed her that Justinia considered their conversations to be to their mutual benefit. She chose her words with care. "Byron, my mentor in the Seekers. Hawke – her methods demonstrate considerable acuity."

Justinia leaned forward slightly. "I know all those already. Who else?"

Very reluctantly, Cassandra said, "Leliana."

"Ha!" Justinia let out a snort of laughter, though the wrinkled around the corners of her eyes were kindly. "It does your soul good to say it aloud, but I assure you, I knew _that._ Come. I don't presume to know everything about you. Surprise me."

Cassandra frowned. After a long moment, she said hesitantly, "There is a man I have not thought about in some time. It was a strange and momentary encounter. I am not even sure if my memory is reliable, or if I recall of it – only what I wish to believe."

"You know that I love you, my child," Justinia said gently. "Here we may talk freely."

As she spoke, the walls of the Divine's inner chamber seemed to hug them close in the steady candlelight. Cassandra tended to guard the few true secrets that she had, but she'd also found that she could tell Justinia anything – Justinia, who had helped her realize her heart's most secret longing to be more fully known.

Cassandra cleared her throat, looked away for a moment. "This was about… eighteen years ago, at the beginning of my service to Divine Beatrix. As early as my first month, I believe. Disgracefully early for me to have requested a leave of absence."

She'd told Beatrix that she need to attend to some personal affairs in Nevarra, alluded to fears that her uncle Vestalus was unwell, then set off on horseback at a pace she knew would be difficult to follow. When she was certain that no one was behind her, she changed her course and headed for the chantry at Greenfell.

Everything about this was wrong – lying to the Chantry, commandeering Chantry resources, and tapping into Chantry networks to learn that Regalyan D'Marcall would be visiting this chantry, this week, in his official capacity as a newly minter Senior Enchanter. Cassandra had plenty of opportunities on the journey to turn around, but each time, she muted her conscience and rode on.

She didn't really think that Regalyan would be happy to see her, but she'd had hopes of changing his mind.

The Greenfell chantry was small, but its proximity to Orlais made it politically significant. Cassandra had familiarized herself with the building's layout beforehand, as well as the Templars' duty roster. There would be a servants' entrance only lightly guarded late at night. Having tied up her horse some distance away and approached quietly on foot, she was half-dismayed to find no one on surveillance at all. It seemed a final sting to her moral sense that she wouldn't be able to report the lapse.

Inconspicuous in a dark, bulky cloak she'd taken from a cache of chantry donations back in Orlais – and who was she, to be stealing from the poor? – Cassandra slipped unnoticed through the servants' quarters. From there, it was easy enough to locate the guest wing. That was as far as her information went. She figured her best bet was to start from the grandest room and work her way down.

The door to the suite on the uppermost floor was closed, but from outside Cassandra had seen the curtains aglow with candlelight. As she crossed the landing silently, she heard a low murmur of conversation. Regalyan. Only he wasn't alone.

She would wait until the visitor had gone. She was just about to turn away when she heard a bright, high giggle. A woman moaned. "Galyan." The unmistakable sound of a slap.

Cassandra froze. However long she stood there listening was more than enough to confirm that she hadn't been mistaken. All thoughts of asking Regalyan if he'd received her letters – of pleading with him to remember what he'd said to her before – these were exposed for the foolish daydreams they were. She had never felt so humiliated.

Half stumbling back down to the servants' wing, she tried to turn her mind to all she would have to do next. Retrieve her horse and find an inn in the next town with stables – before dawn, preferably. She'd run the poor creature hard to get here, but they could be back by the Divine's side two or three days early if –

A fist closed around her wrist. She jerked her arm away, reflexively, but managed to stop herself from punching the man just in time. A Templar, Fereldan, armed. Too late to run now.

"I saw you come from upstairs. What were you doing?" he demanded.

"Oh," he said a moment later, taken aback. "You're crying." But he moved to position himself between her and the door, no less cautious.

She wiped her tears away with the back of one sleeve, thinking quickly. "One of the guests… sent for a woman. Please, ser – he made me promise not to tell."

He looked her over gravely. "Your story is plausible, unfortunately. But something tells me it isn't true."

Slowly she held out her hands, palms facing upward. "I carry no weapon."

"A skilled assassin needs none."

She shook her head. "I am not here to cause harm," she said, and before she could stop herself, "and you are not even on duty."

She saw his expression flicker, wondering how she knew. His hand went to the sword at his side. He wasn't in his full uniform – that was what had given him away – but only a trained eye could have discerned that.

"Who are you?" he asked, on full alert now.

Against her instincts, she stood her ground. "A friend of one of the chantry's guests. I only came seeking a private conversation. I swear by the Maker."

"Visitors who invoke the Maker's name so boldly may use the front door," he replied warily.

He took a step towards her. But there was only the moonlight filtering through a high dusty window, and there was the hood of her cloak and her long hair to hide the scars on her cheeks. He shouldn't be able to recognize her again, she thought, though years later she could still picture his face clearly – his straight noble brow, deep creases to his eyes, curly blonde hair precisely combed back. Highly ranked for his youth. He would be in a real position of authority now – assuming her infraction hadn't cost him his career.

Looking into his eyes, she said levelly, "Let this matter rest. Neither of us was supposed to be here tonight. My affairs were my own concern, nothing warranting an official report. It was commendable of you to step in when you discovered your subordinate had failed to report for duty. But you were not on duty tonight; you cannot be held accountable. I give you my word that I will not return."

He seemed on the verge of asking her another question. "My business here is done," she added, unable this time to suppress the tremor in her voice.

Did he recognize the truth, when at last she spoke it? Was that pity she saw in his eyes – or disgust?

He raised his hand, but she relaxed when she saw him make the gesture for peace. "Then walk in the Maker's light," he said softly.

"There is nothing hidden that will not come to light," she supplied in response, already hurrying to the door.

As she passed him, she thought she heard him whisper roughly, "Do not make me regret letting you go."

He watched her leave. As surely as she kept an eye on him, making sure he didn't raise the alarm. He was still standing there, leaning one hand against the door frame, when she finally turned and fled.

* * *

"I have never told anyone this," Cassandra said to Justinia presently, shifting under the older woman's piercing gaze. "There was of course the matter of misconduct on my part. But more than that, I was deeply ashamed of who I had become. In those days I was insecure enough in my position as Divine Beatrix's Right Hand. There were many who felt I was undeserving of such an honor. Every day, I felt like an impostor. Do not misunderstand me, Most Holy – I have loved my time in the Chantry's service. But I wonder to this day if it would have been better for that Templar to have kept to the letter of the law and exposed me. It was what I deserved."

"Evidently he did not think so." Justinia paused. "And still, you admire him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He gave a stranger the benefit of the doubt. As I have struggled to do, time and time again."

Justinia nodded, looking satisfied. Cassandra let out a long sigh.

"What do you think, Most Holy?" she ventured.

"I think the same of you as I always have, my dear." Justinia drew herself up, assumed a greater air of formality. "The Canticle of Andraste, 6:12. What does it say?"

"Maker, forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

"And the Canticle of Benedictions, 5:7?"

Cassandra bowed her head. "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy."

"So do not cling to your remorse," Justinia said lightly. "The Maker sees what is done in secret, and He rewards all who follow his ways.

"And good riddance to Regalyan D'Marcall," she added. "I did not know the details of the way you two parted."

Cassandra laughed, in spite of herself. "What happened between us was many years ago. We were so young then. Certainly I was needier. But those old wounds have healed. It is only that Templar I still think of with some kind of pain."

"Perhaps he still thinks of you." Justinia's smile was full of mischief. "I can think of worse punishments for such a tender-hearted young man."

Cassandra's cheeks burned. "It was not – nothing like _that,_ I am certain _._ Divine Justinia, sometimes I think you are the worst of us!"

"I most certainly am." Justinia chuckled. "Send in Leliana, when you leave. Goodnight, my child." She pressed her cheek against Cassandra's, then turned to receive the younger woman's kiss. "I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

When Cassandra had gone, Justinia leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, thinking. She had only a few minutes to wait before Leliana knocked, touching the secret spring that made the concealed door slide open. She held a nugskin folio in her hands.

"Leliana. My sweet child." Justinia's smile was tired, but heartfelt. "Your report on Knight-Commander Meredith?"

Leliana nodded. "A rather disagreeable personality, Most Holy, if you'll forgive my saying so."

Justinia accepted the folio and, flipping it open, scanned several pages. Pausing at the line she'd just read, she frowned. "Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford?" she read, with some surprise. "Who in Thedas is he?"

Leliana shrugged. "Meredith's second-in-command in Kirkwall. A nobody, but he rose quickly through the ranks, and seems to be Meredith's confidante."

Justinia turned over the list of places he'd served. "Hmm." She raised an eyebrow. "Confidante, you say?"

"They do seem unusually close. Naturally, there are plenty of rumors, but I would hesitate to lend credence to any of them without firsthand investigation. Still…"

"Hmph. You may add that to the roster when you and Cassandra travel to Kirkwall next week." Justinia paused. "Let Cassandra handle this one. Take the day off. See the friend of yours I'm sure I know nothing about."

"Justinia?" Leliana stammered, looking shocked.

"Please, say no more." Justinia waved a dismissing hand. Then she grinned. "Until it gets juicy, at which point, tell me everything."

* * *

After Leliana had left – humming happily – Justinia lowered herself to her aching knees and clasped her hands. _Maker,_ she prayed, _watch over my girls. Establish the work of our hands. We look to your perfect love, being weak and fallible. And a bunch of romantic fools, every one of us._

The following week, the Left and Right Hands of the Divine set sail for Kirkwall.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks to AgapeErosPhilia and an anon for asking if I'd continue the section from "The Benefit of the Doubt"! More soon!_


	2. Chapter II: Knight-Commander's

**Chapter II: Knight-Commander's Knight-Captain**

In their five years of service to Divine Justinia, Cassandra and Leliana had journeyed east to Kirkwall countless times together. The route was straightforward, the destination familiar, and their mission hardly the worst they had been called upon to perform. As such, Cassandra could not account for Leliana's strange bouts of excitement, which alternated with periods of deep gloom. Whenever Cassandra tried to inquire into her peculiar moods, the other woman rebuffed her. Nor did Leliana's personal effects offer any clues as to what might be putting her in such a distemper. Cassandra therefore resigned herself to letting the mystery rest for the time being, though it sat poorly with her naturally investigative mind to know nothing of what troubled Leliana so.

* * *

Kirkwall was as brisk and mercenary as ever, yet upon their arrival, Cassandra noticed several changes that made her uneasy.

To Leliana, she remarked lightly, "There are a great many Templars standing guard, are there not?"

Leliana narrowed her eyes. "Indeed – it seems that Kirkwall must soon become known for its vigilance."

As they pursued various leads together through the city, their suspicions were confirmed – they were being closely watched. Furthermore, the more of their contacts they spoke to, the more Cassandra grew certain that the Templars' wariness was connected to Hawke's steady rise to power. While Hawke was not herself a mage, apparently she kept close company with several mages, not to mention dwarves, elves, and even qunari – causing scandal in certain circles.

Yet this itself was not so alarming; what concerned Cassandra was Knight-Commander Meredith's rapidly escalating responses to Hawke's every action.

Any disciplinary action taken by the office of the Divine would yet seem premature; however, Cassandra and Leliana agreed that Meredith might receive some kind of warning. "But," added Leliana, "I'm afraid I must ask you to undertake this alone. Justinia felt that you would be better suited to this particular task, and I have business elsewhere tomorrow." She would reveal nothing further of the nature of her business.

* * *

Often, the Hands carried out their duties singly; yet Cassandra missed her friend's agile wit and ready spirits as she entered the Templars' garrison the following day, alone. She was acutely aware of many eyes following her as she announced herself, and stated her wish to speak with Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard. She was shown to a crowded room, and told to wait.

Ruminating on Leliana's especial secrecy of late kept her preoccupied for a time, but when the city bells struck noon, Cassandra realized she had already been detained for almost two hours. Unaccustomed to such delays, she repeated her request to speak with the Knight-Commander, this time in louder and more strident tones. To her consternation, she was met this time with an even chillier reception than before: "The Knight-Commander was a busy person, and had other important affairs to attend to presently" – in a supercilious tone bordering on contempt.

Cassandra was disgusted to meet with such flagrant disrespect. She had risen to her feet in preparation to leave, when an elderly Templar quickly accosted her, contrition etched across his gray features.

"Seeker Pentaghast," said the man earnestly, "I would apologize for the way you have been treated. No reparation is sufficient to the offense. However, I'm sure that Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford would see you. He is Meredith's second-in-command, entrusted with many of the garrison's affairs. Moreover, I can assure you that he is an upstanding man of fine character and deep sympathy."

Cassandra considered her options. On the one hand, if this was Meredith's regular ploy to divert her visitors to less important channels, to comply would be an insult to the Divine's office as well as her station. On the other hand, she was loathe to return to Justinia with nothing to report. What she'd seen of Meredith's leadership hadn't impressed her so far, and her chances of obtaining any useful information might be better with this Cullen Rutherford, if he was even half as capable as this emissary claimed.

She gave her assent, and the elderly Templar smiled and motioned to her to follow him. He led her through to a deeper part of the fortress, stopping to knock on an unmarked door. "Come in," a voice called, and her guide hurried in to make her introduction.

But Cassandra herself stood froze in place, her memory jogged suddenly by the sound of that voice. Could it possibly be?

For years, each time she visited Templars across Ferelden, she'd allowed herself to hope that she might see _him_ again, if he hadn't forgotten her after so brief an encounter, if he hadn't been killed in the course of his duty, if he hadn't been so augmented and distorted by her imagination so as to be virtually fictitious…

Distantly she became aware of the door swinging open, her feet carrying her past the threshold, and then she was standing face to face with the Templar she'd met in Greenfell all those years ago, the guard who let her go and the man who held her close in her sweetest and most confounding dreams.

* * *

"Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker Pentaghast," he said, lips curving up in a genuine smile.

"Ser Rutherford," she murmured, fighting to keep her composure.

When he touched her hand, she felt another electric flash of recognition: his touch was unmistakable. He was the very man!

Yet his rich voice and fine brow betrayed no particular warmth beyond what was appropriate for someone meeting another person for the first time. Had she been mistaken?

Belatedly sweeping her gaze to take in the room, Cassandra noted that the older Templar had taken up his post near the door, while beyond the Knight-Captain's desk was another door left purposefully ajar. She must be careful with her words, she decided. It remained to be seen whether she could trust anyone in this place.

Meanwhile, Cullen Rutherford drew up a chair for her. They seated themselves on either side of a great desk piled high with papers and ledgers he seemed to have taken pains to keep in order. Nonetheless, no amount of organization could help the simple fact that his workload was clearly overwhelming.

For a while they spoke formally of the various political strife in Kirkwall and Orlais, all the while avoiding mention of anything that could be construed as controversial and thus, she supposed, incriminating.

Clearly, raising concerns about Knight Commander Meredith's severity, or Hawke's activities, or their shared personal history, was entirely out of the question.

Cassandra's frustration grew. She possessed a naturally impatient temperament that meant she was frequently disgusted. Yet in this moment, she found that she did not tire of conversing with Cullen Rutherford in the slightest. His quickness of mind, his liveliness of speech, his warm smiles, no less sincere for their frequency – all these enthralled her. He was as charming as she remembered him, and more. It was a prevailing joy to linger some minutes longer in this man's presence.

An accidental gesticulation knocked a heavy leather-bound tome off the overcrowded desk and onto the floor. The old volume, probably handed down over generations, fell open at once to a well-worn, evidently beloved page.

"Oh! I do apologize – " Cassandra began, as Cullen Rutherford said, "Please don't trouble yourself, let me – " Both of them reached for the book at the same time. Their fingers touched across the page. Cassandra let out a gasp as memories flooded through her – comingled with a great many roseate daydreams as well – and this time, when she looked up into Cullen Rutherford's eyes, she thought she saw a momentary flicker of a deeper understanding between them. In that instant, his amazement was all exposed.

But no sooner did she seem to perceive it, than it was gone.

More than anything, she desired to draw such feeling out of him again. Her eyes fell on the open page. "Why, this is one of my favorite poems!" she exclaimed.

"It is a favorite with me as well," he said, seizing eagerly upon the topic. In his enthusiasm, he seemed to forget his careful posture of formality. What radiance, what ardor crossed his face then! "Before today, I never knew anyone who felt the same way. The poet is one of undeserved obscurity. You must read a great deal of poetry to have encountered her work."

"I am afraid I must reject your judgment of me, as generously as it is given. My own work does not afford me time to read as much as I would like. I have found only snatches of this poet's corpus in anthologies much like this one, for all I have sought it out."

He was about to respond when, from behind him, a woman cleared her throat. Instantly he straightened, raising one arm in a tight salute. Cassandra looked up and saw a tall, imposing woman wearing full armor and a scarlet hood over her pale hair.

"Knight-Commander Meredith," said Cassandra, raising her eyebrows in mock-surprise. "I did not expect that I would see you, having already been here for half the day."

"Meredith, this is Seeker Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine," said Cullen Rutherford much more respectfully, and awaited her reply.

None came. The Knight-Commander only cast her gaze about derisively, her cold blue eyes as piercing as arrows.

At last, Meredith said, in candied tones, "Cullen, don't you think you should have informed me that we had such an important guest?"

As she spoke, Meredith laid a hand on his shoulder. Though the man himself did not react, Cassandra had to suppress a shudder. It was as though Meredith had reached out and grasped some inmost fiber of her own being. If she could not take it for herself, she would strangle it.

Unexpectedly turning as frosty as Meredith herself, Cullen Rutherford replied, "She may be highly decorated, Meredith, but the matters we spoke of today were of no great importance. I didn't want to trouble you."

"Indeed. Discussing _poetry_ – well, I should be so happy that in times such as these, the Chantry can still afford to pursue the arts." She smirked. "Perhaps I should do likewise. Cullen, I didn't know you were so fond of this book. You wouldn't mind if I borrowed it, just to see what the fuss is about for myself?"

"I should be glad to lend it to you, Meredith," he said evenly, handing over his book.

Something about the scenario made Cassandra quite sure that he would never see that book again. Caught up in the pageant, none of them could object. Such a performance was more than conscious discourtesy – it suggested Meredith was becoming quite disconnected from reality. Cassandra began to understand what it was like for those who had no choice but to operate under her. It did not bode well for Kirkwall.

Or for Cullen Rutherford – though he seemed content to remain at the Knight-Commander's side on a first name basis…

He addressed her presently. "Seeker Pentaghast, we have taken up enough of the Knight-Commander's time. Allow me to escort you to the gate."

Before Cassandra or Meredith could argue, he ushered her out of his office. Long after she turned the corner, Cassandra still felt Meredith's eyes on her back. It was a rude, abrupt dismissal, and affronted, Cassandra said nothing as they quitted the premises.

In fact, most of her anger was directed toward herself, for allowing her imagination to run wild. The young Templar she had met at Greenfell, zealous yet full of grace, was now the cowed subordinate of a tyrant, executing the tasks she assigned him with the same appalling vulgarity.

At the gate, Cassandra held her head high, summoning all her Nevarran childhood tutors had taught her of disdain.

"May I call on you this week, Seeker Pentaghast?" said Cullen Rutherford seriously, to her astonishment.

"Call on me?" she echoed haughtily, in part to cover her surprise.

"Oh, yes. Tomorrow evening, perhaps?"

"Oh, no. And continue to burden you with matters of no great importance?"

His face flushed, and he looked stricken. Before he could reply, she drew herself up. "I depart on the morrow. Good day, Ser Rutherford."

"Wait! Tarry a moment – please! What about tonight?"

She halted. His sincerity – and his anguish – could not be clearer. Seeing her waver, he added, "I should tell you more about Knight-Commander Meredith. Things I could not say while she was listening at the door."

Cassandra's heart sank further. Inwardly she cursed her own foolishness. It was only duty that prompted his attention to her – a soldier discharging his office, a good man moved to address obvious injustice – nothing more. Yet her disappointment was so great that she could only manage to mutely nod.

He exhaled, evidently much relieved. "Discretion is called for. Can you meet me at the ninth hour, at the entrance to Lowtown?"

"Very well," she said coolly, and walked away without a word of farewell.

She would go to get more information on the Knight-Commander's strange conduct. That, she reasoned, would be gratification enough.

* * *

An hour later in their rented room, Leliana gasped, eyes wide.

"My dear," she said, in a resounding voice, "you have a beau!"

Cassandra shook her head miserably. "An informant, perhaps. Nothing more." She sighed, unable to contain her sadness. "Even though…"

Leliana pounced. "Even though what?"

Cassandra found herself telling Leliana about encountering Cullen Rutherford years ago in Greenfell, but it struck her now as a sorry tale.

"He's smitten, I just know it," declared Leliana confidently. "Ooooh, we must find you something to wear!"

"Your eagerness to help is extraordinary. Is it possible that you find yourself currently frustrated in romantic entanglements of your own?"

It was only a guess. But Leliana flushed red, a response as rare as it was incriminating, for all she passionately went on to deny it, and Cassandra knew she would get no further for now.

She also submitted to Leliana's animated resolve to find her "something to wear," which was far from a simple process. All afternoon, Leliana steered her from boutique to boutique, finding shopkeepers to fuss over them, holding up various gowns and petticoats and cooing, "Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?" as though she had never seen clothing before.

A shopping excursion – even if Cassandra's participation was required – was just what Leliana needed to lift her spirits. Countless emporiums and several hours later, Leliana departed cheerfully with six new pairs of dainty slippers. Cassandra herself left wearing a new outfit and shoes with a good heel, a fashionably dressed victim headed to Lowtown to meet Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford.

* * *

A/N: "Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?" is my favorite line from _Pride and Prejudice._ I don't get to use it often enough.

Thanks for reading! More soon!


	3. Chapter III: Hanged Man

**Chapter III: Hanged Man**

Leliana had issued fair warning – "That she would not cease from fussing over their raiment until she had firmly prevented Cassandra from arriving to her date with Knight-Captain Cullen on time." For, "Absence shall only increase his desire of seeing you again," remarked Leliana amiably. Cassandra herself had no head for such ploys.

However, it appeared that the Knight-Captain might, for when she finally reached their meeting point, he was nowhere to be seen.

Dusk was falling, and shadows everywhere lengthened. Suppose he had changed his mind about meeting her? Or suppose she'd walked into a trap – so foolishly willingly – at any moment a band of armed Templars would fall on her with swords and nets and arrows?

Cassandra made a noise of disgust, dismissing the ridiculous figments of her imagination. "Anyone who wishes to attack me is willing to try," she thought, and allowed herself a thin smile. Her hand strayed to the dagger concealed in the hem of her new tunic, an alteration Leliana had agreed to make after Cassandra had complained at length about being separated from her armor and sword. Privately, Cassandra had to admit that she was pleased with her purchases. The neckline was cut high and wide, underscoring her collarbones, and in her new shoes she stood taller.

She heard hurried footsteps, and turned.

Cullen Rutherford hurried up to her, clutching a small parcel. Upon making a closer inspection, she noticed that one of his palms was bleeding slightly, and his boots, polished and treated with evident care, bore fresh scuff marks. The parcel he carried was wrapped in storm-gray silk, evidently expensive.

Altogether, he presented an intriguing puzzle. She decided not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had piqued her curiosity.

"Right Hand, Seeker Pentaghast, I must apologize for being so late," he said in a rush.

"Not at all." Inwardly, Cassandra frowned. She would have enjoyed the satisfaction of telling him that she had been perfectly punctual.

* * *

To call the discreet location he had chosen a tavern was only partially correct. It served drinks and victuals, but it also served as a place to conduct business, trade in information, or pass a few nights away from the watchful eyes of the city guard. Under different circumstances, Cassandra could easily imagine herself barging in and hauling any one of the patrons out for questioning. She looked askance at a redheaded dwarf, wearing multiple rings in each ear and a heavy medallion around his neck, scribbling rapidly on a roll of parchment. What business did anyone have to be writing as fast as that?

As they passed his table, the dwarf looked up and, seeing the Knight-Captain, grinned. He was about to speak, but at some unseen signal, closed his mouth. He looked straight at Cassandra, rather more searchingly than she would have liked. With a cooler smile at Cullen Rutherford, the dwarf returned to his writing.

So the two of them were acquainted. Cassandra frowned as she pondered the implications for Cullen Rutherford's reputation.

They sat down at a small table in the back where it was quieter, the candlelight softer. Her suspicions were again raised when their drinks arrived immediately. What sort of connections with Cullen Rutherford have in this part of town?

He was apologetic again. "I would have brought you somewhere more genteel than the Hanged Man. But their drinks are good, and this is the best place to go for privacy."

Cassandra eyed her glass with irritation, suspecting bribery. Still, she knew that in Kirkwall, to refuse a drink was to make an accusation that someone had poisoned the glass. Even if her impressions of Cullen Rutherford so far were not unmixed, she did not believe his intentions to be so pernicious. Accordingly, she took a tiny sip from her glass.

The wine was rich and complex, a much choicer vintage than she would have expected from in this setting. It appeared that Cullen Rutherford, whatever he was, could also be a generous host with a sophisticated palate.

She was incensed. Having agreed to meet him for information – and telling herself that was all – she had no business in allowing herself to be beguiled by the man as well. She resolved to keep to the intended subject: Knight-Commander Meredith.

Cullen Rutherford interrupted her resolutions. "If I may – this is for you," he said, pressing the parcel into her hands.

Her frown deepened, then dissolved as the bindings fell away. She stared up at Cullen Rutherford with thrilling surprise, gripping the leather binding so tightly that her hands hurt. "How did you – "

"A friend of mine is an author. He helped me track it down this afternoon when I told him you would like it." He was smiling with such affection in his eyes that her breath caught in her chest.

But sense was not yet wholly overthrown within her. She slid the book back to him across the table. "Perhaps you should keep it, having lost your other volume that included this poet."

"Nay – it would bring me greater happiness to know it was in _your_ possession."

"Very well, if you will part with it so easily. Perhaps you could ask Meredith if you could read the other together."

He faltered, and she decided to press her advantage: "Is the Knight-Commander aware that you are meeting me here tonight?"

He only smiled ruefully.

How wrong she had been! – thinking her heart could feel no further dismay!

* * *

But after a moment's pause, he said, "You penetrate straight to the heart of the matter. But there are complications I cannot cut through as quickly. Will you permit me a longer answer than yes or no?"

She raised her eyebrows. "If you see no other way."

"You must already know that Knight-Commander Meredith and I are… close. I don't know your sources, and I won't question your reasons for listening to them. I only ask that you allow me to speak, here and now, for myself.

"I was posted to Kirkwall about a decade ago. I don't know if Knight-Commander Meredith herself had a hand in that. What I did quickly come to realize was that Meredith keeps a special watch out for recruits who had had painful past encounters with mages.

"I believe her intentions were good," he added quickly. "Certainly they were in the beginning. You may have known about what happened to Meredith herself when she was young. Her older sister Amelia developed magical talents, but rather than have her registered, her family opted to keep her hidden. They feared that life in the Circle would be too much for her.

"Untrained and unsupervised, Amelia's powers soon got away from her. One of their neighbors reported her to the Templars. Terrified, Amelia struck a bargain with a demon and transformed into an abomination. She killed over seventy people, including every other member of Meredith's family. That was how Meredith came to view magic as a curse.

"Yet, as an orphan, she also came to care especially for those who had been hurt by mages. She helped many traumatized Templars, myself included.

"She always saw commonalities between us. She was the last one left alive in her family; I was the only survivor of the Circle at Kinloch. Everyone who had been with me there – my mentors, my friends, all the people I had known since I was a child – all of them had been slain by mages. Simply knowing that gave her a hook into me. I must confess also that my grief, rage, and terror were fuel to the fire.

"I became her protégé, and soon her most dependable follower. I saw in service to her a chance to make all I had undergone into something useful.

"Meredith has always been zealous, but in the last six months she's adopted extreme views. To be honest, I fear she's not quite herself. She's altered, somehow. It pains me to see her like this…"

His voice choked with emotion, and he looked away. In spite of her unchanged views on the situation, Cassandra was moved. For the first time, she recognized that even a tyrant like Meredith could be pitied, and hoped sincerely that Meredith understood what a treasure she had in her best Knight-Captain.

He cleared his throat, and was able to continue. "Even so, she trusts me more than she trusts anyone else. In fact, presently she trusts very few people at all. I do not mean to betray that trust lightly. Despite the growing abuses of our power –" he shuddered, "– the reason I remain at my post is because I still have hope that I may do some good here. Kirkwall, most wretched and insurmountable, and the very place where hope it most needed! And I must maintain Meredith's trust in me to keep my influence.

"Meredith and I…"

He coughed, and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

In the intimacy of watching him make this small, unconscious gesture, Cassandra's feelings towards him finally crystalized, with the soundness of a last tumbler in a lock clicking into place. She had sought to banish Regalyan D'Marcall from her every thought and feeling, determined that he should have no further part in her life. It was not like that with Cullen Rutherford at all. Even knowing his love was already given to another, she did not despise her longing to be close to him, body and soul. The relentless flames of unrequited emotion – she could bear them, and would, if it meant she could keep her sentiments of what he meant to her, past and present, incandescent and not yet fully revealed.

"…were never lovers," he was saying, "although she has been a mentor to me, and for a time, a dear friend. I care for her, albeit not in the way she would prefer. I have made that clear to her, but she is possessive of me…"

Cassandra could not quite believe what she had heard; and was unable formulate speech.

"When you left this afternoon, she interrogated me. She demanded to know what I told you, even though she was listening to our conversation. (I thank you for picking up on that quickly, and apologize for putting you through that charade.)

"I told her that you had come from the decadent Val Royeux chantry and cared little for our activities; that I had never laid eyes on you before; that I had no particular feelings towards you.

"But I'm sure that by now, I've given myself away. By now, she must have discovered that I climbed out of a window and down the walls to escape. It's hardly what a man would do for a woman who meant nothing to him."

Her heart was beating very fast. She looked up into his eyes, and saw the truth there.

"I could not say," she replied, the calm of her voice somehow exactly right. "That kind of inadvisable behavior seems entirely consistent with the man I remember."

* * *

A/N: I've written Cullen so repeatedly (and so repetitively, it would seem) that yesterday when I said something embarrassing to someone, I touched the back of my neck with one hand. Is that what I've gained from these fics!?

The body and soul paragraph leaned on insight from AgapeErosPhilia, who gets Austen like whoa.

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you! I may yet have room for your favorite 19th century romance tropes!


	4. Chapter IV: Running After

**Chapter IV: Running After**

The act was concluded! – and with it, the tall phantoms of falsehood and secrecy that had cast long shadows on its lead players. The two regarded each other in a brilliant new light.

"Cassandra – will you let me call you by your name, since it has waited over fifteen years to pass my lips?"

"If you will not think me too bold, Cullen, to call you by yours, though I only learned it a few short hours hence."

"Oh, Cassandra! It really is you!" He laughed – not without rue, but more than succeeding it with joy. "I would hardly presume to think ill of _you,_ Cassandra, when I consider what a knave I must appear to you. A liar and a turncoat, acting always under cover of darkness!"

"And in me, you must see a coldblooded creature and a hardhearted judge."

"Far from it!" he cried. "Cassandra, from the first moment I saw you – a portrait, commissioned when you saved Divine Beatrix from a hundred dragons – from the instant I heard of your great courage and compassion, I fell in love with you. It has been the happiest part of my life. Although I had already spent a few years with the Templars, it was from you that I acquired my highest aspirations – the protection of the weak and innocent – loyalty amidst tribulation and falsehood – love of the Maker's goodness!"

"You recognized me, then, in Greenfell?"

"Nay, the night was was dark, and I could not see you clearly. Until you had long gone, and I had the chance to make inquiries into the identity of our important guest that season, I had not realized it was you. After I had, Regalyan D'Marcall's conduct – which had enraged me before – become a hundred times more despicable.

"Maker forgive me – for the remaining duration of his stay, I entertained phantasies of punishing him for the pain he caused you. But what good would that have accomplished? In all of Thedas, I could find no relief, no consolation, no balm for my sorest regret – that I had not run after you when I had the chance."

At his joyful declarations of passion, her heart blazed within her. She told him eagerly of the noble first impression he had made in risking himself to show her mercy. For the following hours, they unfettered all that they had wanted to tell each other for years.

As the evening grew late, the room filled with a buzzing of commerce and entertainment that was unsuited to close conversation. Cassandra and Cullen thus departed for the unexpected back gardens of the Hanged Man, which overlooked a most agreeable view of the Waking Sea.

Staring out at the water, an image filled Cassandra's mind: Cullen lowering himself languorously into a boat, flexing his arm as he helped her in after him. As her eyes drew level with his chest, he unbuttoned his shirt, and carelessly cast it aside. Rolling his shoulders back, he reached behind him for a pair of oars and began to row with long, steady strokes.

She shook her head, feeling dazed. Where had she gotten an idea like that?

Cullen's hand brushed against hers, and she felt a galvanic current – a delightful thrill, and yet a discombobulating shock. A dreadful foreboding seized her heart. He had showered her with poetry and ardent avowals. But on the morrow, they must part, and all would be gone from them, as though the evening had been nothing but a dream.

Here was an ultimate demon of doubt. Must reality prove as evanescent and as empty as she had always, foundationally, feared her romantic hopes to be?

Inspiration struck. "Could I write to you, Cullen?"

He sighed. "How wonderful that would be – but alas, how unwise! Meredith reads all my letters. She has influence as far as Val Royeux. I fear that she would retaliate, calamitously."

"I am not afraid of her."

"I mean no condescension to your bravery, but you don't know her like I do."

He seemed to read her thoughts. "Cassandra, what a farce this must seem!" he murmured. "See – I must hold your hand, only to release it all too soon!"

She tightened her grip, not willing it to be so.

Suddenly a look of wonder crossed his face. "Suppose I left with you tonight? Kirkwall is beyond one man's power to save. Behind me, impregnable chaos; before me, the one I love! This vision of beauty, in front of my disbelieving eyes! Why, Cassandra, why then do I hesitate?"

Wordlessly, she squeezed his hand, feeling the desperate pulse they shared.

"No – I cannot do it. Lyrium yet chains me to the Order, but more than that, how could I go back on my vows to the Maker – the tasks set before me here – and present myself as worthy of you?"

"Maker take me, Cullen – no more than I could stand to lose you again!" Cassandra cried, trembling with fear and with desire.

It was finally more than he could bear. Casting aside the conventions of propriety, he caught her up in his arms and kissed her.

Endless nights, she had dreamed of him kissing her – truly, spun such deliberate phantasies in her waking life that they seeped into her unconscious. But even her sweetest phantasies came nowhere near the reality. She could never have imagined the sensations that flared through her as she discovered all the ways he desired her. She could never have anticipated his joy as she opened up for him, wanting him more with each breath. She had never before been taught that in making love, all was transfigured into praise.

When they finally broke apart, she could hardly regain her sense of being. His kiss had been life itself – how could she subsist again on air?

She wished she could help more, promise more, give more. She felt powerless, which made her all the more afraid. All she was able to say to him was: "For all this time, you have been in my hopes and dreams, Cullen. And there you will be – more than ever, after this night."

"Cassandra…" He pulled her into a tight embrace. She struggled to keep her voice steady, even as her body trembled with his.

"Strange circumstances compelled us to meet. Stranger circumstances may yet bring us together for good."

"Do you really believe it?"

"I want to."

"So do I." He groaned. "My heart will always be with you, Cassandra, Even though the Maker has seen fit to confine me here, for now. Seeing you – ah, momentary fulfillment of my impossible wishes! – has allowed me to hope that by staying at my post I may yet do some good. My dearest Cassandra, may I truly have such hopes?"

"If you will permit me the same, Cullen, in waiting to be united with you again. The Maker knows it is not a disgrace to hope even beyond measure."

* * *

But after parting from him – with many kisses that were yet too few – her words seemed so faint in the face of the obdurate reality of their circumstances, a candle in a window on a stormy night. His words, his gaze, the heated memories of his touches – how small these seemed, compared to the roiling void of her fears!

Returning to her rooms, Cassandra lay in bed, crying until she was too weak to shed another tear, helpless to alleviate her misery.

Cullen Rutherford! How sweet it was to say his name, and even as she wept alone she shaped it of the empty air.

Many hours later, Leliana crept in, and jumped when she noticed Cassandra.

"Cassie, you gave me a fright! I didn't expect you to be awake at this hour. Or at least, not in our room…" She gave a weak smile, acknowledge that her attempt to lighten the mood had failed utterly. "Was Ser Rutherford's company not to your liking?"

"Oh, no, Leliana!" Tears dropped afresh onto the counterpane. "But we cannot be together now, nor may we ever be."

"Surely things cannot be as dire as that, Cassie?" Leliana said. But her chin trembled, and to Cassandra's surprise, tears rolled down her friend's cheeks as well. When she came closer into the circle of candlelight, Cassandra judged that she too had been weeping.

"What man has upset you?"

"No man."

"What woman?"

"No woman."

"Leliana, if you will insist on being so secretive, there will be little I can say to console you."

"Ah," cried Leliana, "that is only meet; I am quite beyond consolation of any kind."

She flung herself across her bed, pressed the back of one hand to her forehead, and sobbed extravagantly.

Cassandra stroked her friend's beautiful auburn hair, and pondered the situation. Leliana was often prodigious, even frivolous, with her affections. Her preferred method of burying a love affair was beneath the construction of another one. This matter, however intense, would surely not come to much?

She said as much to Leliana in slightly softer words, adding, "And is not the players that you love, Leli, but the game?"

"The game? The game itself is no game," Leliana concluded, wretchedly. She was not at her best tonight. Having dispensed that crooked observation all the same, she rolled on her back and cried out plaintively, "Love! Did I love before this? Oh! What is love?"

"Persistence," said Cassandra. "Endurance."

"I have neither."

"You have this," said Cassandra, tilting Leliana's chin up to look her in the eye. Leaning forward, she kissed her on both cheeks. "Callers will come and go, but friendship will always remain."

Leliana managed a trembling smile. "What an abject woman I would be without you, my dearest friend! What other counsel do you have for me tonight?"

"Have faith," said Cassandra, but she could not muster a smile in return. "Have hope –"

* * *

A/N: The image of Cullen rowing can be found – multiple times – in "Love Is Her Protection" by AgapeErosPhilia, who also supplied "a candle in a window on a stormy night" because definitely.

"It is not a disgrace to hope even beyond measure" is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer.


	5. Chapter V: After Ruin

A/N: Trespasser plot elements ahead, but if you don't know what happens in Trespasser, you probably won't recognize them as spoilers!

* * *

 **Chapter V: After Ruin**

Upon their return to Val Royeaux, Cassandra and Leliana reported all that they had seen and heard to Divine Justinia. After listening somberly, Justinia increased aid to the Chantry in Kirkwall, and allowed Leliana to send more agents watch over the Templars, though they were asked not to intervene. Leliana assented serenely; Cassandra felt a good deal more discontented.

In private counsel with the Divine, Cassandra recounted her meeting with Cullen Rutherford. Justinia was pleased that her guess had been accurate: he was no other than the young Templar Cassandra had encountered in Greenfell. But she was not in the mood to teaze Cassandra as she had before. The situation in Kirkwall weighed heavily on her mind, and her temperament was such that she felt responsible for any difficulties that she could not unravel.

"Do you love him?" asked Justinia, when Cassandra had finished her tale.

Cassandra blushed. "I… I could not say. I admire him more than ever. I wish with all my heart that I could see him again. Beyond that, my feelings are in disarray. And love is surely more than volatile emotions."

"A pious answer." Justinia's tone was critical. "But do not think that you have evaded the question."

"No, Most Holy."

Justinia sighed deeply. Her tone softened at last when she said, sorrowfully, "I should not speak as though all the answers were in _my_ possession either. Come, help me kneel before the Maker, my child. We are the times we live in."

* * *

Circumstances being what they were, Cassandra knew that the Divine would want updated firsthand accounts from Kirkwall again before long, and she did, sending her Left Hand – but not her Right.

Any mission that Leliana carried out without her was confidential. Cassandra did not inquire further, though Justinia, sensing her restlessness, said to her with a touch of asperity, "You are needed here, Cassandra."

She spoke the truth. Cassandra had more than enough to do here, and there had already been three assassination attempts on the Divine's life in the last month alone. "Of course, Most Holy."

"So you say, but you appear to be divided in your opinion."

"I wanted to request that… to ask you if…" Justinia eyed her sternly, not coming to her assistance. "Might a transfer be arranged for Cullen Rutherford? Even if it were not possible to bring him here, could you not use your influence to remove him from Kirkwall?

"Ah, the great temptation of the religious to separate themselves from the rabble, whenever life begins to become oppressive and troublesome."

Cassandra felt her face grow hot. "Most Holy – "

"Most Holy indeed. Behold the chief of sinners, seated upon a golden throne!" She laughed harshly. "The good Knight-Captain has judged the situation more wisely than you or I are inclined to. It is the sick who require a physician, not the healthy.

"Pray that the Maker will not help Cullen Rutherford escape danger for danger's sake alone, but will be with Him in the midst of it. A light to shine where there is darkness."

It was briskness, not sympathy, that was needed to build her strength. Following the Divine's leading, Cassandra did her best to quell her self-pity. And she fought to keep her disappointment contained whenever she pressed Leliana for details from her visits to Kirkwall, and heard little more than, "He was increasingly confined to the Templars' garrison, and rarely left the Knight-Commander's side."

* * *

For the following eleven months, Cassandra pursued every report on Kirkwall from her post in Val Royeaux. In particular, she sought news about Knight-Captain Cullen, but there was virtually none, and Cassandra knew better than to try to contact him. The ache in her chest was a constant reminder of how little she could do.

The city devolved by the day, and soon must needs be utterly ravaged. Common mercenaries appeared in droves, taking advantage of the general situation of lawlessness. Perhaps most alarming of all were reports of a rising qunari force that had been targeting public sites with explosive gaatlok barrels. New, vicious recruits to the Qun insinuated themselves in organizations everywhere, their sole objective being to destroy them from within. Only Chantry buildings so far had never been infiltrated, but the Chantry had been nonetheless, their relief efforts severely hindered by concerns that radicals might be hiding among the refugees – the very people they wanted most to help. All was hostility, suspicion, and fear.

The office of the Divine continued to pursue Hawke, believing her to be their best chance of restoring order to Kirkwall. Correspondence was exchanged with several contacts, but no reply was ever received from Hawke directly, and her whereabouts became increasingly difficult to ascertain.

The Chantry had all but given up trying to intervene between the mages and the Templars, focusing their efforts on aiding the poor and destitute. It was necessary work, but Cassandra never ceased wishing there were more they could do.

So she passed Kirkwall's last days in fretfulness and trepidation, right up to the very morning when the Chantry building in Kirkwall was destroyed, and the mages and Templars turned on one another completely.

* * *

That day, Cassandra, Leliana, and Justinia had been forced to attend a gathering that Cassandra deemed a total waste of their time. The soiree had been large but unimportant, and while it was customary for Chantry representative to be present, it was utterly out of line for their host, a minor cousin of the Empress, to have invited the Divine and both of her Hands. Justinia could not refuse royalty without provoking a fight; Cassandra had come close to starting several in the cousin's garish palace as the hours dragged on. When they finally returned to the Chantry, the messenger was waiting for them, his report written on parchment edged in black.

The three listened gravely as he recounted how Hawke had defeated Meredith, who had been driven insane by her own red lyrium sword. No one had seen Hawke since the battle.

Divine Justinia steepled her fingers. "The remaining Templars have regained control of the city?"

"Yes, Most Holy, though many fear the Order has suffered irreparable damage. Many Templars fell at the hands of the rebel mages, some while defending their own charges. By the Maker's grace, the Kirkwall Templars have united to some degree in the wake of Meredith's death. Moderate leaders who command the respect of many have stepped up to lead in the interim."

Cassandra turned pale. Before she could interject, the messenger went on, "I do have some good news: many mages escaped the final slaughter. It was the culmination of a daring plan hatched and carried out from the inside. Until the mages were discovered to be missing, no one knew that Meredith's second-in-command, Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford, had been orchestrating the entire operation for months."

"And Cullen Rutherford, did he go with the mages?"

"No, Most Holy. He had to remain to guarantee their escape. When Meredith found out, she ordered his execution."

Leliana let out a gasp.

The messenger, appearing not to hear, continued, "He was killed in a skirmish before the sentence could be carried out. He gave his life so that others might live. I am sorry that does not gentle the blow. A good man has been lost."

Cassandra was not given to fits of fainting or hysteria. Instead, when she heard the news, a numbness slowly closed down her senses. She did not even consciously perceive it.

What she remembered from that time was Justinia's grief, rather than her own. Ostensibly, the Divine made monumental decisions that changed the fates of so many. Paradoxically, it fell to her also to preside over those times when there was nothing anyone could do.

The Divine and her Hands spent the rest of the day arranging the funeral services for the city, and choosing the hymns to be sung by those who remained.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to come?" asked Leliana anxiously, as she and Cassandra readied their horses the following morning. "I would spare you the sight of Kirkwall in its present state."

"Do not ask me to forsake my duty. Perhaps if I had seen to it properly before, things would be different now." Cassandra tightened the reins on her horse, and the ropes around her heart. They would hold her together if they had to asphyxiate her as well. She felt strangely detached towards the outcome.

"You lent him hope," said Leliana in a small voice. "You did what you could."

"But not what needed to be done. This time I cannot fail. I must find Hawke."


	6. Chapter VI: Worlds Overturned

**Chapter VI: Worlds Overturned**

The events of the following days in Kirkwall folded in on themselves in Cassandra's mind, the sequence perplexingly shuffled and eerily compressed.

* * *

She was overseeing day after day of funerary processions with Leliana, both of them doing their best to imbue the proceedings with meaning and dignity as representatives of the Divine, while their hearts felt all too human.

* * *

She was meeting with one Varric Tethras, friend of Hawke. Dully, she registered surprise when she was approached by the redheaded dwarf she'd seen writing at the Hanged Man, over a year ago.

"I was the one who told the good Knight-Captain about that joint, you know," Varric said, when he had offered his condolences with solemn decorum. "Everyone liked him there. But he'd never have found his way in on his own."

"I suppose not," Cassandra said, a lump rising in her throat when she recalled her earliest, unworthy suspicions.

"Hawke had dealings with Meredith, of course, which was how I came to befriend Cullen," Varric went on. "He always trusted you. That's good enough for me."

Another figure appeared behind Varric, a tall, stately woman. "Cassandra Pentaghast, who has a proposition she'd like you to hear," the dwarf said to her. "Seeker Pentaghast, this is Hawke."

Cassandra explained Divine Justinia's vision for the Inquisition, delivering her memorized lines with passion she did not feel, but knew she had, before. Each time she paused, Hawke motioned for her to continue. Eventually, she realized that Hawke had no intention of refusing the role. It was the very thing Hawke herself needed.

"Divine Justinia will meet you at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in a fortnight. Together, the two of you will preside over the Conclave, keeping peace between the mages and the Templars," concluded Cassandra.

"No," said Hawke abruptly. "I suspect a trap. Let the Conclave proceed, but the Divine and I should remain at Haven. We will reassess the situation afterwards and determine what we must do next."

They made plans to meet at the docks when Hawke was ready to leave. When the other woman was called away, Varric turned back to Cassandra and, with deep compassion, asked, "So, that book he had me shake down the whole city to find was for you?"

"Yes. Thank you. I very much enjoyed reading it."

As mechanical as her words were – always were, nowadays – he seemed momentarily unbalanced by her thanks. "Glad I could help. Curly never asked me for any favors before, though he could have called in plenty." He made a gesture of respect for the dead. "Will you be staying here much longer?"

"Several days more, while I see to other affairs."

Varric Tethras' smile was askew. "Best not to linger too long. The Inquisition sounds like it needs you. I'll see you soon in Haven, Seeker, if I have to drag you there myself."

* * *

She was walking up to the monument that been sculpted in memory of the tragedy. Although no more prominently than any of the others, Meredith Stannard's name was listed; Cullen Rutherford's was too. Cassandra knew his part had been controversial, and there were many who reviled him along with all the rest of the Templars for their part in the atrocities.

He was never far from her mind, but as she stood before the disaster, Cassandra turned her thoughts to Meredith Stannard. She and Meredith had both been struck by family tragedy at a young age. Adopted into Orders, they had become ruthless, and then cruel. But where Cassandra had had mentors who gently steered her onto a different path, Meredith's anger had been left to develop into hatred. Nevertheless, it was their similarities that loomed large to Cassandra, and deterred her from judgment.

Clasping her hands in prayer – perhaps the first of her own since her arrived in the city – Cassandra noticed the dedication that encircled the stone: _While we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Maker. But because He lives, we also will live._

Among Meredith Stannard's personal items was found an old book of poems, open to the preface that quoted one of its contributors: "I have never wavered from my vocation, but I have failed to live up to it."

* * *

She was colliding with an enormous qunari, and hearing Leliana's voice – "Bull!"

"She walked into me," the qunari rumbled. He seemed to fill the entire parlor of the Chantry building where Cassandra and Leliana had taken rooms. Cassandra had to take a step back to look at him.

"This is the Iron Bull," Leliana said. Cassandra had recognized him instantly from sketches that had been brought all the way to Val Royeaux. Leliana was holding his hand, and her cheeks were flushed with happiness. "Bull, run along while I speak to Cassandra for a minute."

The giant qunari did not run, but he left them to talk alone very obligingly. "He is Ben-Hassrath," said Casandra in an undertone, "and known to have perpetrated much violence."

"He _was_ Ben-Hassrath," declared Leliana, in tones of such finality that Cassandra realized what her friend had been up to all these months.

"Justinia knows? This is why she sent you on all those trips to Kirkwall alone?"

Leliana nodded. "Justinia asked me to bring the Iron Bull over to our side. She was skeptical oft this at first, but oh, Cassie, I've never felt this way about anyone before. Surely Justinia will be happy for us?"

"I understood that it was impossible to leave the Ben-Hassrath. How did he manage it?"

"By unseating many of the other leaders. The factions that remain are scattering even now as we speak. With any luck, this will put an end to the attacks Kirkwall has seen lately. There has not been a single one since the Iron Bull left to be with me. He is coming with us to join the Inquisition as well."

Casandra was unsure of what to say in response to the news that an ostensibly reformed and besotted qunari spy had volunteered to join the Inquisition.

Leliana registered her skepticism, and communicated with a look that they would discuss matters further later. "You look faint, Cassie. When did you eat last? You must join us for dinner."

"Thank you, but I am rather tired. I will have a tray sent up to my room."

"Rest, then." Leliana embraced her. "Until the morning, my friend."

* * *

Having said her goodbyes, Cassandra retired to her room. She removed her armor, with its Chantry and Seeker motifs, and stored it in her armoire. She splashed her face with water, dotted her neck and wrists with scent, and lined her eyes again.

Heartsick – and choosing to sink deeper into the mire with each step she took – she departed to meet Regalyan D'Marcall for dinner.

* * *

A/N: The dedication at the memorial is adapted from 2 Corinthians 5:6 and John 14:19. The poet quoted is Gerald Manley Hopkins. His last words were, "I am so happy, so happy."

My impression of the nineteenth century is that it was terrific to have trays sent up to your room all the time.

Many thanks for reading! Two more chapters to go!


	7. Chapter VII: Old Weakness

**Chapter VII: Old Weakness**

Regalyan D'Marcall had invited her to his Hightown manor for the evening, and she had accepted, observing that his phrasing did not preclude the existence of multiple estates, perhaps even within Kirkwall itself. As she passed through the grounds and the great doors, she saw many things to indicate that he possessed an income of perhaps as many as a thousand thousands a year, enough to furnish a large family with every earthly comfort – a dizzying sum for a single occupant.

Nearly twenty years had elapsed since Cassandra had seen Regalyan last; now she discovered that age had only brought improvement to his already good looks. His manners, too, were superior, and he had prepared an exceedingly generous reception, much more than the occasion required. After an excellent dinner, they adjourned to his parlor, where he filled their glasses with a sweet Nevarran wine. Seated in velvet chairs, they discussed the recent events in Kirkwall.

Like her, he had been away during the explosion, but he supplied her with the impact of the news on other Circles. Several of them had taken in the mages who owed their lives to the late Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford; Cassandra admitted that his name was known to her, but did not elaborate.

Gradually, Regalyan brought the topic around to related matters. "There is a strangely potent mage named Solas who has been quietly making inquiries through back channels. I am quite certain that he will make his way to the Conclave, with so many senior mages gathered there."

"You have met him, then? What do you make of him?"

"I don't know where he comes from. I find that suspicious. Moreover, something ineffable about his person disturbs me."

Cassandra thought of Hawke's gut feeling about the Conclave being a trap. There were too many strange coincidences for her liking. "Do you know where he is now?

"I could find out."

"I would be grateful if you could take him into custody, preferably without harming him. He has done nothing yet that we know of, but I would like to ask him a few questions."

"Certainly."

Cassandra sighed. "I appreciate your information. The Chantry has had more than we could contend with recently, but when have things ever been otherwise? We ought not to have neglected the Circles so badly."

"How will you respond?"

"By doing what we can now, and hoping that reconciliation will yet prove possible."

He reached over and caressed her hand. "An easy task, if every emissary were as lovely as you."

She felt him shudder ever so slightly with anticipation.

* * *

In the end, wasn't this what she'd come for? She had written to him from Val Royeaux, he had taken some trouble to rearrange his schedule, and here they were tonight.

All day, she had seen to the dead; something in her needed desperately to reaffirm life.

Weren't they old friends – one of the oldest she had left? Wasn't he an admirable man in his own way – drawn to power, sensitive to beauty, quick to burn with passion?

Vividly she remembered how it had felt to be with him, and her body ached for the same obliteration. Letting go would be ecstasy. If not, it would be pain of the sort she craved as well, that she felt she had coming for her, that she felt like she deserved.

She was not a flustered adolescent any longer; she felt there was no danger of her forming a lasting emotional attachment from an encounter that meant none. It would be quick. She could walk out of his manor in an hour, as though she had never been there at all.

The thought shook something loose in her. The memory of Cullen, clasping her hand, and she knew at once, with bone-jarring certainty, that no touch had ever left her unchanged.

"No," she burst out.

She snatched her hand away. She feared she had offended Regalyan, but he only regarded her with the same expectation. "No? What do you mean, my dear?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. I am sorry if I deceived you; all I can say in my defense is that it was not my intent: I had thought I wanted something else tonight. But I cannot go through with it. I – " She realized the truth as she spoke it. "I love another."

"Then that is your own affair, and I do not ask you to relinquish it. Come, Cassandra. Let me console you. Why should we not help ourselves to what pleasures there are now?"

His confidence enervated her will. With effort, she thought of all he had spoken to her at the very beginning. She would have been much more sorely tempted by his words now had she not learned of their insubstantiality then.

Whatever she felt and wanted to feel in this lonely place – these were not of the person she truly wished she could be, the woman Cullen Rutherford had arrayed beautifully in his love. Her lot of sorrow, thus, was not for Regalyan D'Marcall to take away, even for a short while.

With perfunctory remarks on the lateness of the hour, Cassandra rose and walked quickly to the door. Once more, Regalyan detained her. "I shall apply to you again when Solas has been apprehended," he said. "When I do, I hope you will not forget your decision to stop overlooking the mages."

She readily assented, and with a last goodbye, parted from him. As she hastened away from the gloomy mansion, relief was still far from her. The cold night air only deepened the lingering chill of his resolve.


	8. Chapter VIII: Never Another

**Chapter VIII: Never Another**

The Hanged Man throbbed with people and the lateness of the hour. For once, Cassandra thought she might pass through a place unobserved. She had planned to leave a coin on the counter and walk on, but as she attempted to slip past, the barkeep noticed her – dusted with snow and shivering from the cold – and insisted on serving her a drink.

"The same as last time?" he asked, she finally nodded, and after thanking him, retreated from conversation. She had caught sight of the label as he poured; the name of the wine was Sanctification, and he had refused her money.

* * *

She stepped outside, into the tavern's back gardens, which were deserted. The first flakes of snow to descend upon her were weightless and barely visible. Yet their accrual, as the night wore on, plunged her into a painful stupor. The area was hardly lit, with just a lantern to mark the edge of the water, some feet below.

This was the very spot. She had stood here just a year ago with Cullen Rutherford, not knowing when she would see him again, hope all the while insisting that she must. She should have bid him come away with her while he had the chance.

But then – she thought miserably – what would have befallen those mages he had stayed to save? Had it not been his own choice, to carry out what he knew to be right? And who could tell what his impact on Meredith had been, up to the end, her soul in the Maker's eyes as sacred as Cassandra's own?

Yet this remained – for every hour had she spent with him, years stretched tormentingly ahead without him.

The thought of how narrowly she had avoided falling back in with Regalyan D'Marcall hit her then, and she shuddered. He was not an evil man, but he was unworthy of her, and she had given him enough consideration for a lifetime.

Her thoughts turned to others. Her parents, Anthony, Byron… She thought she had known loss before. But she thought she had known love before, too.

This, then, was love she had been wildly granted to know and be known by, her love for Cullen, in the form it now assumed: not satiety, but longing that only expanded with time – bittersweet transport, hallowed trituration.

Human love has an end, which is the Maker, who makes it endless.

* * *

She stood there for what felt to her like hours in the punishing cold, but no freezing blast could render her insensible of the affliction in her heart.

When she heard footsteps approaching lightly in the snow, she recoiled and buried her face in her hands.

A hoarse voice said, "Cassandra?"

She must have imagined it. No one here could know her name.

She felt a sudden stab of fear in her chest. Was this the beginning of madness – of possession by illusions? Was this the cost of her contending and the end of her tribulation – her unconscious, fatal consent?

No – she stretched out her hand with the full application of her will, knowing all the while that she did not believe what she was seeing.

The impossible figure of Cullen Rutherford closed his hand over hers.

"Cassandra – Maker, can it be – Cassandra!" he cried.

"But you died," she stammered.

Disbelieving still, she stepped forward into his waiting arms. She trembled violently against him, but he was the first to weep. "No, Cassandra, no, my love! I have never been happier to be alive."

* * *

Finally he pulled back, looking into her face with wonder. She was startled to see a new pink scar slashed through his upper lip, only recently healed. His face was shadowed, and he had grown thin. "Oh, Cassandra, forgive me!" he whispered. "The pain I must have caused you, with my deception!"

She could hardly speak. "The mages you helped all said that you were dead."

"When Meredith found out, she came to kill me herself. But I had already anticipated the worst. I knew the only way I would be able to escape was if everyone believed I was dead. I wanted so much to send you word, but I could not risk leaving a trail that would put someone else in danger."

He looked into her eyes anxiously. "For three days now, I have returned to this place. Not knowing if I would see you – but needing to remember you, however I could."

"Three days? But the city fell almost a fortnight ago. Where were you before? How did you manage to acquire lyrium?"

"I was in hiding. I have had no lyrium at all – it nearly killed me."

"Impossible – you are freed from lyrium?"

"I am free."

She was all astonishment. "You managed it alone?"

He was silent for a moment. "There was someone with me. I gave my word and swore an oath before the Maker that I would not tell more."

She couldn't explain how she knew; she only said, "Anders aided you."

For a moment, he could not hide his surprise. Then he nodded. Pain flashed across his visage. "I am glad you were not there to see it. Maker forgive me, there were many times I prayed for death. But at every other moment, I prayed that somehow I would live, just to touch you once more!"

He raised a trembling hand to her cheek. His eyes widened as hot tears spilled over his fingertips. "Forgive me!" he cried again.

"Nay, Cullen, for what wrong?"

"What right do I have to approach you, having severed my every tie to society? I, a ghost without a claim to anything on this earth?"

"You may have renounced society, for so your hand was forced. Only do not forswear that you have my heart, for it was valiantly won, and hopes against all odds to be yours forevermore."

"Then you do not despise me?"

"I love you, Cullen. In your absence, and in my darkest hour, I could never stop loving you."

His awestruck joy made her laugh through her tears. He was all tenderness, all eagerness, and all affection; and she realized she could add to it still. She said, "What treachery took from you, we can restore a hundredfold. Divine Justinia has revived the Inquisition of old, an independent peacekeeping force to serve the Maker with justice and compassion. Hawke will be our leader, but we still lack a Commander – one who will act to bring peace, rather than war; to save life, and not to destroy it. Will you be that man?"

His answer, although drawn out and disrupted many times by the kisses he pressed eagerly to her lips, was fortunately unmistakable. "Yes, Cassandra. To be with you – to know you – to love you! And to never be parted from you again!"

Kirkwall, at last, was not only a place of death and desolation; nor was any corner of the earth bereft of the Maker's blessing. Great is the power of light to overcome darkness, and the world is sweeter for it. The Maker commends our duty, but our devotion is His true love.

Snow swirled softly and silently around Cassandra and Cullen, but there was warmth abundant in their kisses; and there was no fear at all in the bright offering of their desperate, resuscitating happiness.

 **FIN**

* * *

A/N: Is not this nice? when the man you love turns out not to be dead, and you get to offer him the perfect job?

This story is finally done! To counterbalance some of the big cheery outcomes – Hawke gets to be the Inquisitor! Cassandra and Varric are bffs! Justinia escapes the explosion at the Conclave, which may not even happen if Regalyan successfully apprehends Solas! – I hope some uneasiness remains – is it really such a good idea that the Iron Bull is joining the Inquisition/is Cassandra simply prejudiced against him? Are he and Leliana really just spying on each other? Did Cullen and Anders know about each other's plots, and work out some kind of agreement? In any case, Cassandra and Cullen are blissfully together at the end, and hopefully more interestingly for everything else that's going on.

"Human love has an end, which is God, who makes it endless" is from Christian Wiman's essay, "Sorrow's Flower."

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear from you. In any case, I really hope you enjoyed this!


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